


if i get drunk today

by cymbalaire (aigremoine)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - After College/University, Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:06:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27463162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aigremoine/pseuds/cymbalaire
Summary: when you and kuroo share drinks in college after your friends fall asleep, you don't expect anything much to come out of it - undergrad life is busy, after all, and the likelihood of running into him again is quite low.of course, fate has different plans, and he becomes a friend, and eventually something more.
Relationships: Kuroo Tetsurou/Reader
Comments: 7
Kudos: 87





	if i get drunk today

**Author's Note:**

> finally starting to cross-post some of my fics from tumblr!

**tequila.**

It begins in your university years.

Perhaps it’s fate’s way of messing around with you or _something_ , but you end up sharing drinks with Kuroo. _The_ Kuroo Tetsurou – wonder boy extraordinaire from the College of Business whose achievements were always on the university website. He’s miles away on his own league, yet you find him sitting across from you, unaffected by the amount of beer and shots consumed over the last two hours, while Kenma and your other mutual friends are all asleep on the floor with the Monopoly game board and pieces abandoned and scattered on the floor.

“Well,” Kuroo begins nonchalantly, downing a shot of tequila. “Guess it’s just the two of us left.”

You manage a quiet laugh as to not stir the sleeping individuals. “Not surprised. They’re all lightweights.”

“Aren’t they? They shouldn’t keep trying if it’s always going to be like this.”

“Agreed,” you nod, sipping from your beer can. Silence falls once the word escapes your lips, the only thing heard is an occasional snore or snort from someone in their sleep. A part of you wonders if you should say something before things grow awkward; you’ve never really interacted like this before, always in passing or as a group when your friends were awake and coherent.

But he beats you to it. “So. Tell me about yourself.”

You raise a brow at the question. “Is this a job interview?”

He laughs, a pleasant sound that prompts you to smile. “If you want it to be.”

“Why are you asking?”

“Because I don’t think we’ve ever talked – just the two of us. I don’t know much about you, but Kenma’s probably told you many things about me.”

You feign shock and surprise in your voice, clutching your heart. “Kenma didn’t tell you anything about me? Damn him, I’m his _best_ friend – is he ashamed to talk about me or something?”

“I hate to break it to you, but _I’m_ his best friend.”

“You wish,” you wave a hand to dismiss his argument. “But okay. Um…well, you know my name, obviously. I’m studying journalism, and I like long walks on the beach.”

Kuroo raises a brow at the last tidbit, pauses just as he’s about to reach out for the bottle of the dark amber-brown liquid. “You do?”

“I was kidding,” you tell him with a chuckle. “I got you there, didn’t I? Now it’s your turn.”

“Oh? You want to hear about me?” A mischievous smile forms on his lips. “Got your interest, did I?”

You roll your eyes, snatching the bottle from his hands and pouring a shot for him. “Whatever. If you don’t want to, then fine.”

“Ouch, rude!” Kuroo grumbles. “Okay, fine. Kuroo, studying economics. Unlike you, I _genuinely_ like going to the beach, and I also like dogs.”

_Very ordinary,_ you think to yourself, but for some reason, you hear the words come out of your mouth instead of disappearing into the void with your previous thoughts. Kuroo laughs again, and you blush at the realization, pursing your lips in embarrassment. Perhaps it’s the alcohol you’ve been consuming finally kicking in that you’re starting to slip up quickly, though he doesn’t seem to mind your unintentional honesty. “Well, I _am_ human, after all. I am on the verge of perfection but not quite,” he says.

“Okay, now I see why Kenma thinks you’re annoying.”

“Brutally honest, aren’t you?”

You raise your beer can, smiling impishly at him. “Someone has to be – but you don’t mind, right?”

Kuroo grins, raising his shot glass, and there is a gentle _clink_ when it makes contact against the can’s aluminum. “No, not at all.”

(Kuroo insists on accompanying you during the cab ride when you decide to head home just before midnight. _A gentleman never lets a lady go back alone at this time_ , he had proclaimed, though you had simply laughed at him and earned a pout at your response. Though you don’t mind, his company had been surprisingly pleasant, and he was on his way home anyway.

Before you part ways for the rest of the night, phone numbers are exchanged – he inputs his name in your contacts as _Kuroo Tetsurou_ 🐱 – and a promise is made to meet up again when your schedules allow it.

A part of you isn’t too optimistic; undergrad life was busy after all, interactions minute and passing, everyone preoccupied as they worked towards their own goals. But you admit that you look forward to it anyways.)

* * *

**beer.**

Kuroo becomes your drinking buddy shortly after.

You don’t really remember the specifics of when and how it began, but it _just_ happens, naturally, as if everything just fit and unfolded together as it should. You lose count how often you meet up with him, usually on weekends, to share a drink at a pub or your place. But what you _do_ know is that Kuroo’s filter vanishes when he releases his pent-up annoyance in your company with alcohol, though it’s not as if he had one to begin with. He’s sitting across the table from you, cross-legged on the floor of your apartment as he gulps down the contents of the beer can, and a grumpy exhale escaping him.

“I was close to getting a ninety percent in that midterm! I was off by a _half_ percent! Half!” Kuroo grumbles, waving his arms.

“I know, I know,” you tell him. “Did you try to talk to the prof about it?”

He pouts, slouching over and his chin resting on the surface of the table. “I did, but he said –” Kuroo pauses to change his voice’s tone to mimic the professor’s voice. “‘ _The definition you wrote down isn’t exactly what we talked about in class_ ,’” he says in a sing-song voice. “Huh! It’s _exactly_ what he wrote down in the lecture slides!”

You can’t help but laugh at the sound of his voice, prompting him to pout and send a glower towards your way. “What’s so funny?!” Kuroo demands.

“S-sorry,” you wheeze, trying to compose yourself. “It’s just – it’s just hilarious that you tried to copy your prof’s voice. That’s, like, the opposite of your usual image.”

The annoyance that had been initially present on his features quickly transforms into one of curiosity, a brow raised as he straightens up in his seat and asks, “what does that mean?”

You carefully choose your words, taking a sip of your beer before continuing, “I guess it’s just how you always seem like the cool type on campus, I don’t know. Like, you don’t really seem like the person to act silly or petty and stuff. Kenma talked about it before, but I thought he was just making it up.”

Your response seems to be satisfactory to him, a playful grin breaking out across his face. “Oh? Does that mean you think I’m cool?”

“Ew, no. Don’t get too confident.”

“Brutally honest as always,” he laments, clutching his chest in mock pain.

“What I’m saying is that you present yourself differently on campus – but I guess that’s why everyone fawns over you.”

“You make it seem like I’m two-faced.”

“I’m not. It’s just interesting that you’re honest with Kenma and me.”

Kuroo hums and takes another gulp of his drink. “Hm…I’m always honest with people. But I think you and Kenma are a different case.”

“Is it because we always have drinks whenever we meet up?”

“That’s a part of it,” he agrees. Kuroo taps his chin with his fingers as he thinks, nose scrunching as he collects his thoughts. “You and Kenma just make it easy for me to be _really_ honest.”

His words prompt you to smile. Perhaps there’s an ounce of truth in it, his filter _did_ come off whenever it was just the two of you or whenever Kenma joined the fray. Surprisingly, he’s comfortable enough to let loose and let go of whatever is confined within him within your presence. You’ve never imagined for things to be like this between the two of you, let alone have a proper conversation with someone who was practically _the_ school idol. “And you call _me_ brutally honest,” you muse.

Kuroo retorts, “you _are_. We’re similar.”

“Excuse me, I believe I don’t have a terrible personality, unlike _someone_.”

“Are you referring to _me_?”

“I didn’t drop any names,” you smile sweetly.

“I will never listen to you ever again,” he proclaims. “I’ll just leave you to be salty on your own.”

“You wouldn’t dare! You know you’ll listen to me complain about my life for hours if I call you to come over and drink.”

“ _Huh?!_ That’s what you think – I’m not gonna do that anymore because you’re always rude to me!”

“I am _not_ always rude to you! Just sometimes!”

(The bickering continues into the night, but it eventually makes way into laughter and discussing other things, from light-hearted topics to more serious ones. It’s almost past midnight when Kuroo heads home, but before he leaves to catch his awaiting rideshare, he gives you a hug and a pat on the back.

The gesture catches you off-guard, the nearness unexpected, and it continues to lurk in your mind when you finally crawl into your bed to find some semblance of sleep. When did the two of you get so close that you were comfortable enough to get a hug from him? When and how did you become so at ease with him? When did sharing drinks with him become commonplace?

But you don’t mind, you think to yourself, as sleep begins to take you into its embrace, and the last thought you have is the thought of your next meeting with him.)

* * *

**soju.**

As much as Kuroo claims that he will never share drinks with you and listen to whatever you say ever again, he never actually goes through with it. You’d called him out on it once, only for the topic to conveniently change. As much as the two of you bicker, you admit that you’ve grown closer to him; no longer a school idol that you pass by without a single glance, now a _friend_ you spend hours trash-talking with through text messages and Facetime during ungodly hours of the night.

(The word _friend_ feels sweet and bubbly at the tip of your tongue, and you sense something that is warm blossoming within you at the same time.)

Your friendship grows over time, quirks and preferences discovered, understandings shared and disagreements resolved, events both fortunate and unfortunate occurring, and more drinks shared. Soon enough, graduation comes and goes, and everything changes in your lives as reality shifts.

But _something_ remains the same, at least.

As always, Kuroo arrives at the barbecue restaurant first. It’s not a surprise; the main headquarters of the Japan Volleyball Association is near your standard post-work Friday night meet-up location. He’s already relaxed – hair mussed, necktie loose, sleeves of his button-down shirt already rolled up to his elbows, and jacket discarded to the corner of the booth. A mug of beer is already on the table to keep him company while waiting for your arrival, and he raises a brow upon your arrival.

“You’re late,” Kuroo says by way of greeting. “Tsk tsk.”

You roll your eyes, shrugging off your coat and tossing your hair over your shoulder. “Well, _sorry_. Not all of our workplaces are close by so we can walk right after work.”

“Try harder!”

“Who do you think you are, the king?” You scoff before pleasantly smiling at an approaching server. “Soju, please.”

Your order comes to the table immediately, and despite his jabs earlier, Kuroo pours you a shot of the beverage. “So, how are things?” he asks.

You hum as you thumb through the menu. “Work or life or both?”

“In general. You sent quite a few texts beginning with _‘ahhhhh’_ in all caps throughout the week.”

“Mmm, it’s been wild,” you admit. “Deadlines and picking up the slack of not-so-great coworkers – the usual.”

“And are you going to do anything about it?”

“I’m trying to – just in a roundabout way.”

Kuroo’s about to raise the mug for a drink, but he pauses and sets it back down instead. “What happened to your usually brutally honest self?”

You groan, leaning back into your chair. “Kuroo, I can be brutally honest with you and Kenma and not get in trouble because you don’t really care. It’s different at work because I might lose my job here.”

His lips part just as he’s about to say something, but the conversation is cut short when the server returns to take your orders. It doesn’t take long, not when the requests are automatic; your choices remaining similar despite the passing of the years. Once everything is confirmed, the server departs with your orders, and the two of you are left alone once more.

“Anyways,” Kuroo continues. “It still sucks that you have to pick up people’s work when you already have a lot on your plate.”

You down another shot before answering, “I know.”

Kuroo’s eyes are piercing as he props his elbow on the table and rests his chin on his palm. “So, what are you going to do?”

You scrunch your nose. You know where this conversation was going to lead, and as much as you hated to admit that he was correct and he was leading you to face reality, he _was_ right. Being close friends with Kuroo and knowing each other so well over the years meant that he knew how to get you to push your stubbornness aside and resolve issues plaguing you. He’s the only one who could get away with it – and he _knows_ , the arrogant smirk plastered on his face is telling. _Damn smug jerk_.

“I’ll talk to management about it,” you decide. “This has gone on far too long; I can’t keep doing everything forever.”

“And no one should expect you to. You’re not a robot – you shouldn’t be doing everything. You should only be expected to do _your_ tasks. This is a team effort, you know; the paper isn’t being run by you.“ Kuroo reaches out to lightly tap your forehead, earning a frown from you. Still, his words ring true – while you did have solo assignments for your work with the national paper, there were tasks that you had to complete in collaboration with other coworkers. While it was great that your work ethic was being acknowledged, it wasn’t fair that others always relied on you to catch errors and ensure the completion of the assigned tasks. It’s past the time for you to re-establish your boundaries as a team member and as a person, you suppose, but it’s better to do it now than never.

"You know, it’s weird when you’re kind.”

“Back to your brutally honest self, huh? Don’t be rude, I’m _always_ this kind.”

“Gross,” you say, though there’s a smile on your face. The weight you feel on your shoulders feels lighter now. “Kidding. Anyways, I feel much better. Thanks.”

“That will be 100,000 yen, sweetheart.”

Something within you twinges at the pet name, but you scrunch your nose. “Ew, I take it back. _Gross_.”

-

Dinner passes by peacefully over discussions on life and updates on your friends with the barbecue’s sizzle as background noise. You admit that meeting with Kuroo every Friday is the highlight of each week, spending time with him something you’ve grown accustomed to since your university years. While he was smug and perpetually annoying, he offers (occasional) valuable insight as an outsider, yet still guiding you to confront the situations you find yourself thinking about. But it’s not one-sided; Kuroo also shares his troubles (his filter disappearing as usual), his shoulders easing as the dam of frustration breaks and you listen patiently. It’s a sign of your friendship, you realize, meaningful and trust as its foundation, cultivated over the years.

By the time the two of you leave, it’s past nine in the evening, yet the bustle of the city streets has yet to die down; the bright lights of restaurants and pubs and bars attracting passersby like moths. Despite the crisp air, the warmth of the soju you consumed hums within your veins almost like electricity, and you can’t help but smile at the sensation, welcome after an arduous week.

“Hey, c’mon, let’s go catch a cab,” says Kuroo.

“I know, I know. I’m not a child.”

He reaches out and ruffles the top of your head. “Yeah? Your height says otherwise.”

“And you call me rude? You should look at yourself first – your rooster hair is the reason you’re six feet tall.”

He loops an arm around your shoulders as he laughs heartily at the jab, and the sudden close contact startles you. Kuroo’s close enough that you can smell the familiar scent of his cologne and feel the warmth radiating off him, a blush blooming across your cheeks and heartbeat quickening at the realization. But he doesn’t seem to notice, thankfully, as he continues to lead the way to the main road to catch a cab, though you can’t help but wonder what prompts the reaction.

As usual, Kuroo instructs the cab driver to drop you off first, but _something_ feels different despite the ride proceeding as it usually does. It feels like an eternity, and all you can think about is his close proximity, his comments and jabs towards Lev’s Instagram feed subdued by the sensation of your heartbeat in your chest. _Perhaps it’s the soju_ , you think to yourself, you _did_ down two bottles on your own after all, and you had a long day at work as usual. Still, the warmth you feel spreads towards the tips of your fingertips, bubbly and tingly. 

Kuroo walks you to the door of your apartment building, that natural smile back on his face as he leans over to give you a quick hug and a light tap of his knuckle on your forehead, before waving at you and getting into the cab again. It’s how he usually bids farewell before heading on his way, but it stirs your heartbeat into a frenzy once more, and after a hasty wave, you run up the stairs to your third-floor suite.

( _It’s the soju_ , you think to yourself with a shake of your head as you go through your usual evening routine. Perhaps you should take it out of your repertoire in the future, especially if Kuroo’s around.)

By the time you crash into your bed, it’s almost eleven o'clock. Sleep immediately washes over you, as if whatever’s been keeping you upright has finally collapsed in favor of rest, and everything fades.

The last thing you remember is the scent of his warm and spicy cologne.

* * *

**vodka.**

You’re not sure what happened, but _something_ ’s changed.

Maybe it’s just a passing occurrence or even something you’ve spent too much time analyzing in your free time that it’s now distorted in your mind. But there must be an explanation for the fluttering you feel in your chest whenever you receive a text from Kuroo or see him every week, something you can’t chalk up to the alcohol in your system because you feel it when you’re _sober_. You remind yourself that he’s a _friend_ – a good friend – you’ve known since university, someone you value despite the smug attitude and sharp tongue and shared barbs. It’s a mantra you repeat in your head to maintain your composure and _remind_ yourself that he’s just a friend. But it’s all for naught, really, because that flittering sensation returns whenever your phone lights up, and you read the words _Kuroo Tetsurou_ 🐱 on the screen.

Something’s changed over the passing weeks, and you’re not sure what to do about it.

You attempt to push it out of your mind and choose to shift your focus to your article on your computer screen, fingers tapping a staccato on the keyboard. You barely start the next paragraph when your phone buzzes, and the familiar name flashes on the screen, and your heart starts its erratic beating again as you carefully unlock the device. There’s only one new message that almost prompts you to drop your phone on your desk, and all your thoughts become frantic and jumbled.

_I’ll come to get you at work today_ 😗

-

It’s only reasonable, you remind yourself, trying to maintain some semblance of calm as the clock ticks closer to the end of your shift. Kuroo had followed up the text with a brief message that he was in the area for work, and it made sense for him to stop by if the two of you were going to the same destination. There was nothing out of place about it, yet nervousness simmers within you, and before you know it, it’s time for you to leave for the weekend.

You quickly gather your belongings into your bag and slide your arms into the sleeves of your coat, pausing to carefully smooth out your hair just as you’re about to head to the lobby – but _oh_. _Why are you doing this?_ , you chide yourself, _it’s just Kuroo_. He’s seen you through your best and worst, with or without make-up, in fancier dress or pajamas. Still, you feel slightly more conscious than usual, and you hurriedly swipe on some of your tinted lip balm before meeting him.

Kuroo is seated at one of the many plush chairs for waiting visitors, already armed with a friendly smile at passersby that greet him. He notices your nearing presence, and he raises a hand in greeting, tucking away his phone in his coat pocket.

“There you are!” Kuroo announces. “Made me wait long enough.”

You scowl at him, crossing your arms on your chest. "Don’t be rude – I’m perfectly on time because I just clocked out. You’re the early one.”

Kuroo laughs at your cross expression and stands up, loops an arm around your shoulder as he leads the way to the exit. You grow aware of the proximity and feel the stares of passing colleagues as a protest begins to form at the tip of your tongue. It fades immediately when the two of you emerge into the busy streets and make your way to the station to catch the subway to the pub two stops away.

“So, what brought you to the area?” You ask as you board the train together.

“Seminar.”

“And they couldn’t do it at the main headquarters?”

“I know, right? What a waste of everyone’s time. It’s fine; your work was on the way, so I figured we could just meet up.”

_See, I told you_ , you internally chide yourself. _It’s nothing of significance_. But you can’t help but be grateful that he made an effort to stop by – he could have gone ahead to wait at the pub, yet he chose to wait for you anyways. It’s a trivial gesture, but it tugs a smile on your face regardless. “Well, thank you for thinking of me.”

Kuroo grins. “Of course. I _am_ a kind person at all.”

“I feel like you’re going to con me out of a million yen whenever you say you’re a kind person.”

“How rude!”

You and Kuroo reach your designated stop after a short ride and disembark, ascending the stairs to the exit and emerging into the busy street. The pub is busy as always, but you’re ushered to a table immediately, drink orders taken, and you’re suddenly left alone with Kuroo. You shift in your seat, nervously tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as Kuroo makes himself comfortable to mark the start of the weekend – loosening his necktie and rolling up his sleeves to his elbows. This was a common sight over the years, yet shyness and self-consciousness begin to bubble. _Why_ did you feel this way around your friend?

The drinks arrive at the table – vodka on the rocks for Kuroo and a tankard of cold beer for yourself. You take a vigorous gulp, hoping that it would calm you for the rest of the dinner, and Kuroo raises a brow with an amused smile.

“Long week?” He prompts.

“The usual,” you answer. “Anything new with you aside from the seminar?”

There’s a pause before he responds in a tired voice, “my folks arranged a blind date for me for tomorrow.”

You blink. “Oh.”

Kuroo leans back into his chair, runs a hand through his already messy hair. “I know, right? They just told me today, too – through _a call_.”

“Are you going to go?”

“Yeah, since my folks already arranged it even though I didn’t know anything. I’ll just go for the sake of going and tell them I’m not interested.”

“O-oh, yeah. That’s a good idea, it might look bad for them if you cancel suddenly.”

Kuroo sips his drink before nodding. “Yup. If my folks really wanted me to bring someone, I should just bring you.”

You gape at him upon his words, mouth falling open in surprise. “What?”

He explains, “they don’t know you, but you know me – in fact, we know each other well enough. I think we can pull off fake dating well, don’t you think? We could make a good couple.”

A blush spreads across your cheeks at the thought, and you hope that it’s not too noticeable. “You’re truly a con man, you know that?” You mutter, choosing to take another drink of your beer and ignoring the quickening of your heartbeat. “Going as far as to suggest conning your own family.”

“Hey, I never said I was going to actually do it!” Something that resembles a pout appears on his face. “Just a little suggestion in case desperate times call for desperate measures.”

“Sure, whatever you say,” you tell him. This topic of fake dating – and the idea of _dating_ Kuroo – wasn’t right for your heart, and a change in subject was needed if you wanted to make it through dinner with him. You scramble for an excuse, and you hope that it’s not too awkward sounding. “Anyways, how’s Kenma?”

“Still staying up late, as usual. He was posting about Animal Crossing the other day.”

“Classic Kenma.”

"I know, right - oh! By the way, did you know…”

A part of you grows relieved as the topic of fake dating is ultimately swept aside when Kuroo begins to talk about seeing a mutual friend from your undergrad days. Still, the fluttery feeling persists, and it takes you all the strength you need to not down your beer to distract yourself from the sensation.

-

The night proceeds as it usually does, and Kuroo sees you off at your apartment entrance with the cab waiting outside.

“Well then, have a good night,” says Kuroo cheerily, his usual smile plastered on his face.

“Good night,” you echo. “And, uh, good luck tomorrow. Let me know how it goes.”

A sigh escapes Kuroo, and he rubs the back of his neck. He doesn’t seem too keen, considering the meeting was planned without his permission. “Yeah, will do. If I end up sneaking out early, I’ll go to your place.”

You smile at that. “I’ll let you in only if you bring wine.”

“Of course.”

You step forward for the customary goodbye hug, and Kuroo loops an arm around you, the contact fleeting as always. But when you step back, there’s a serious look in his eyes as they search your gaze, as though he was deliberating a thought in his mind, and you stare up at him. “Kuroo?”

The sound of your voice seems to distract him, and he manages a grin. "Oh, sorry.”

“Are you okay?”

“Oh? Are you worried about me?” His voice has a teasing lilt to it, and you scowl, punching his shoulder. "Ouch!”

“Go home already! The driver’s waiting.”

“Alright, alright – jeez, so rude.” Kuroo reaches out to ruffle the top of your head. “Good night, sweetheart.”

That warm bubbly feeling returns once again at the usual nickname, and you can’t help but smile. “Good night.”

You head up to your apartment just as the cab departs, heart and mind swirling with from the frenzy of thoughts and feelings. The day was simply too much for you to handle and you feel like steam is going to burst out of your ears, the gears of your mind going haywire at the thought of trying to process everything. You needed some well-deserved rest, and once you enter your suite, you immediately focus on preparing for bed.

You’re lying in your bed with a sheet mask on your face and scrolling through Instagram when you see Kuroo’s most recent selfie with Bokuto from the MSBY Black Jackals, and it suddenly dawns on you. Its impact is tremendous, like an asteroid crashing into the earth, and you almost fall out of your bed when you realize what the change is.

You _like_ him.

* * *

**wine.**

You don’t sleep well that night.

Thoughts keep racing in your mind as you piece together this new realization, ricocheting off your head’s interior walls. It is quite an epiphany – ground-breaking and earth-shattering, and shocking to come to the understanding of your feelings towards a dear friend. In hindsight, you _did_ like Kuroo to an extent; if you didn’t, you wouldn’t keep hanging out with him for years now, nor would you let him in and trust him with your fears and insecurities. It’s hard to not get along with him, not when the two of you shared many sentiments but also listen well to different ideas, a mutual willingness to be open-minded. He was also friendly and funny, a bit rude sometimes, but still genuine and reliable – and _maybe_ even good-looking –

_Oh_. Your face burns hot, and you slap palms against your cheeks. Maybe it’s not as new as you think it is. Perhaps you’ve always liked him all along, just never really realized the true extent of your feelings or put a name to what you feel towards him. But now you can name the reason for the fluttery feeling that persistently stirs whenever he messages or calls, the warm sensation whenever you’re with him – none of these are influences by the liquor you’ve been sharing with him; instead it’s from having genuine feelings for him.

Now comes the hard part. What _do_ you do with this realization?

Realistically, there are only two options for you. But you decide it’s best to talk to someone about your thought; Kenma’s the only person left to talk to, his reserved and analytical perspective what you need right now. Though a glance at the clock reveals that it’s seven in the morning on a Saturday, you have an inkling that he wouldn’t appreciate an early phone call, all too aware of his night-owl habits. A hearty breakfast was in order before cleaning up the living room to kill some time before having a conversation with your friend.

By the time you finally call Kenma, it’s almost noon, and you nurse a cup of coffee as the phone rings. He sounds fatigued when he wakes up, his “hello?” sounding more like a grunt than a greeting.

“Kenma. Are you awake?”

“I wasn’t until you called,” he pauses to yawn away from the microphone of his device. “Why are you calling so early?”

“It’s almost noon.”

“It’s _early_ for me.“

“What did you even do last night?”

“Playing Animal Crossing. I was terraforming my island.”

“How is it?”

“It’s fun, I think you’ll like it,” he says. “But I don’t think you’re calling me because of video games.”

You take a careful sip of your coffee before responding, “no, I’m not.”

“Are you day drinking?”

“I wish I was if we’re going to have this conversation – but no, it’s coffee.”

Kenma yawns again. “Coffee sounds nice. Now, what’s up?”

You take a deep breath before letting the words tumble out of your mouth, “I think I like Kuroo.”

Silence.

“Okay.”

The lack of reaction from Kenma is expected, but you think it’s a sign for you to continue. “I’m not sure if I want or _should_ tell him.”

“Oh? That’s unusual. I thought being brutally honest was your thing with him.”

You stare at the fuzzy white rug on the floor, wriggling your toes in the soft fabric. “I know. I’m just scared.”

“Hmmm. That’s a first.”

“I’m human too, Kenma,” you roll your eyes. “Who wouldn’t be scared in my situation? I have a _crush_ on one of my closest friends, and there’s a huge chance one move can ruin everything.”

“So, you’re telling me all this. What are you going to do?”

The question echoes the same that Kuroo asks you whenever he leads you down the route to resolve what was troubling you. What _are_ you going to do? You chew on your lip as you weigh your options. A part of you wants to be honest with him and let him know, yet there was the uncertainty of his reaction. There was a possibility that he would react negatively and cut off your friendship, the prospect even worse than the probability of him rejecting you.

But you _know_ Kuroo, the tiny voice in your mind tells you. You know him well enough to predict that the likelihood is low and that he truly values your friendship. There was no way that he would ever let unrequited feelings get in the way of your camaraderie, not when he’s come to know all your insecurities and troubles and weaknesses over the years. Your bond runs deep, cultivated since your time together in university, and something irreplaceable.

Still, the hesitation lingers.

“Well, it’s your decision to tell him or not,” says Kenma. “But, I do have something that might help you.”

“What’s that?”

“He won’t hate you if you’re brutally honest with him.”

-

You decide to spend the day cleaning your apartment to take your mind off things, Netflix is playing in the background to help keep you company; if you were going to be at home mulling over your thoughts, it might as well be productive. Laundry is completed and the basket of ironing for Sunday prepared; your bedroom and the living room vacuumed and dusted; bathroom scrubbed clean; garbage and recycling disposed of accordingly. By the time you finish everything on your to-do list and taking a well-deserved shower after a busy day, it’s almost time for dinner, and you unlock your phone, deliberating if getting delivery was worth it.

But before you can open the local food courier app and think about your choices, a call from Kuroo arrives.

“Hello?”

“Hey,” he greets. “Are you at home?”

“Yeah. What’s up?”

“I’m on my way with wine as promised – I bought sushi too.”

Your heartbeat quickens at the realization that he’s coming over, and you wonder if fate has messed with you once again, just like it did years ago. “O-oh! Okay. I’ll see you soon. Just call again when you’re downstairs so I can let you in.”

“Sure, see ya.”

Kuroo arrives sooner than expected after the call ends; you surmise he must have been on his way already when he called. He walks in your apartment with a bottle wrapped in a brown paper bag and a plastic bag about to burst open with containers of take-out sushi, his usual natural smile on his face.

“Make yourself at home,” you say, watching him remove his shoes by the door and neatly line them up.

“You know I always do.”

“That just shows how shameless you are around me.”

“Hey! I don’t need to have shame in your presence.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re already smiling. “You never do. Thanks for the food and wine.”

“Of course – I did promise, didn’t I?”

Kuroo sets the packages down on your small square dining table, untying the bag to set down the plastic containers of sushi, while you pull out the bottle from the paper bag. He’s brought an expensive-looking clear bottle of Riesling white wine, and you whistle, placing it on the table.

“Ooh, this is a first,” you muse as you rummage through your cabinets for your wine glasses. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“To me, obviously.”

“Don’t get too confident.”

"Be mean to me, and I’ll eat everything.”

“You are in _my_ apartment.”

“You know you won’t kick me out.”

You ignore Kuroo, helping set the table instead. There’s some truth to his words, but you’d rather not admit that to him, not when there’s something else you’re wondering if you should tell him, but you decide to stifle it. Once the table’s set, the two of you give thanks for the meal, the wine is poured, and dinner begins.

“So…” you begin. “How did it go?”

“It was…” There is a pause as he carefully chooses his words. “It was alright.”

“…What does ‘alright’ mean?”

"Well, …she was nice. Just okay to talk to – I think she was a bit nervous, so she didn’t really talk much. Very different from our first ever conversation, that’s for sure.”

You can’t help but joke, “I _am_ a special gal.”

“You are,” Kuroo agrees. His answer catches you off-guard, expecting a jab or a jest of some sort. But, his gaze is affixed on yours when you look up at him. The flutter of butterflies inside you begins, and you clear your throat, scrambling to pick up the conversation.

“A-anyways, so what’s going to happen now? Did you talk to your folks?”

“I did.” Kuroo pauses to sip his drink. “Told ‘em that it was alright but not really my thing. Oh, and they should ask me first before they set me up on blind dates.”

“At least you were honest.”

“Of course! Being brutally honest is also my thing, you know.”

You respond to the joke by making a face, and he laughs.

The meal continues as it usually does whenever it’s just the two of you, and you savor every moment. It’s hard not to be fond of Kuroo’s company, not when he’s known you for so long, and your interactions flow smoothly and naturally. You laugh when Kuroo trash talks Sakusa Kiyoomi’s “boring” Instagram posts (“Are you sure you should be talking smack about the volleyball players you work with?” “It’s fine, it’s Sakusa we’re talking about.”), complains about Kenma’s lack of sleep schedule (“He was still up at five in the morning playing Animal Crossing!”), and discuss current affairs in Tokyo when the news plays on the television in the background.

You’ll miss this if he ever decides to cut ties when he finds out how you really feel, you think, watching him clumsily spill soy sauce on the surface of the table and curse under his breath. His company during meals and drinks has become a norm over time, something you’ve grown to anticipate and now part of your routine. It’s probably best to keep your feelings to yourself if you wanted to protect this – at least until the time is right.

It’s late when Kuroo taps on his phone screen, searching for a rideshare service app. “I left my car across the street,” he says. “I’ll come to get it tomorrow.”

“Sure, sounds good.”

“I’m gonna get going.”

“Did you book a ride already?”

“I’ll do it downstairs; I don’t want to keep you up.”

“You can wait here, it’s fine.”

Kuroo ruffles the top of your head, and you hiss, earning an obnoxious laugh in return. “Staying up late isn’t good, you know? You won’t grow any taller.”

“Well, _I_ stopped growing when I was sixteen years old, so that’s old news.“

“Alright then, shorty.”

“Please _do not_ say that word again, it’s gross.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Kuroo answers nonchalantly, a smirk tugging on his lips as he walks to the door with his jacket. “As you wish, _shorty_.”

You smack his arm. “Ew.”

Laughter bursts out of him again while he puts his shoes on and drapes his jacket over his shoulders, and the initial annoyance you feel fades as you find yourself smiling. “Text me when you get back,” you tell him.

“Oh? Miss me already?”

“Don’t get too full of yourself.”

“Ouch, brutally honest as always.”

“Of course, someone has to be.”

He suddenly pauses at your words, his gaze shifting to the ground before looking at you. There’s a look of uncertainty but also seriousness in his eyes, catching you off-guard, and the fitful beating of your heart begins once again. “Does it always have to be you?”

"…What do you mean?” You ask carefully, choosing your words.

“Does it always have to be you that’s brutally honest?’

You’re unsure where this is going, nervousness blooming within you as you search his gaze, still maintaining that look. You’re uncertain what to say next, tongue-tied, and the words failing to form, and the most you can do at that moment is a weak attempt at a joke. “Why do I feel like you’re going to tell me something important right now?”

“Because I am,” he acknowledges. “I like you.”

Silence. The only sound audible is the ticking of the clock hung on the wall as the seconds pass by.

You blink. “Sorry, what?”

Kuroo groans and runs a hand through his hair. “Seriously?”

“No – wait – what did you just say?”

“You’re kidding me, right?” He closes his eyes in exasperation, pinches the bridge of his nose. “Didn’t you hear me?!”

“Would I be asking you if I did?!”

“Fine – let me repeat it!” Kuroo says, voice growing stronger when he musters the courage to repeat the words. “I like you!”

Your mind goes blank as you attempt to process the confession and regain your senses, his words sinking in slowly, and the most you can do is stare at him and blink. But your heart understands it all faster – a pleasant warm sensation blooming and the familiar jumpstart of your heartbeat in your chest, and it brings you back to the present just as your cheeks burn hot with a blush. “O-oh.”

“I like you – I always have.” He manages a grin. “I like everything there is to like about you – whether you’re happy or sad; sober or not; even if you’re making faces at me and calling me gross or smiling at something else that’s funny or when you get self-conscious that your make-up’s already faded at the end of the day. I _really_ like you.”

You’re biting your lip, trying to fight the smile breaking out across your face, but the attempt is futile. He _likes_ you, and your heart is practically about to burst out of your chest at the realization. Almost nothing else matters, not when he feels the same way, and all those worries you’ve hidden begin to fade into the ethers.

There’s a hopeful look on his face when you finally gaze up at him after composing yourself, a smile tugging on your lips. “Brutally honest, huh?” you ask him softly.

Kuroo smiles, eyes twinkling with anticipation and searching yours. “But you don’t mind, right?”

“No, I don’t,” you shake your head. “Because I like you too.”

* * *

**cider.**

The storm rolls in for the evening; the low rumble of thunder with the pattering of the rain of the windows an entrancing rhythm and almost lulling you to sleep. It was a good idea to stay in for once, you think to yourself, nursing a hot mug of spiked mulled apple cider in one hand and the other in the bowl mixed with popcorn, pretzels, and chocolate pieces. Kuroo was the one who suggested changing the routine for once; your favorite pub disregarded in favor of a movie night in your apartment, and you suppose the furious rain might be the reason why.

Not that you mind. Kuroo’s sidled up against you on the floor with his head on your shoulder, sipping the same drink from his own mug and eating from a bowl of chips placed on top of the blanket draped over your laps.

“You’re going to get my blanket dirty,” you tell him, keeping your eyes fixed on the film playing on the television screen, wincing as you watch the zombie plague spread throughout the train. 

“I’m not,” responds Kuroo. “I’m not a messy eater, unlike _someone_.”

“You may not be a messy eater, but you’re definitely a _mess_.”

Kuroo sets his mug on the nearby coffee table before reaching out to pinch your lips together, and you make a displeased noise in response. “Rude as always, I see.”

You stick your tongue out at him. “I thought you like everything about me?”

“I should’ve clarified that I don’t really like the rude parts.”

“Wow, what parts of me are rude? I’m a _gem_.”

“This,” Kuroo says. He takes the mug out of your hands to place it on the table to join his, and he abruptly leans over, startling you. Your thoughts are suddenly jumbled at his closeness, the familiar scent of his warm and spicy cologne distracting. Still, before you can say anything else, his lips are immediately on yours.

The contact is soft and warm, but it’s far too ephemeral when Kuroo pulls away, ending it suddenly as it began. You can’t prevent the blush from spreading across your cheeks at the unexpected gesture. He smirks mischievously, satisfied with the reaction he procures at his bold action, leans back against the couch, and returns his attention to the film. 

“You’re the worst,” you mutter, pursing your lips together, attempting to hide the shy and giddy smile threatening to form.

“Brutally honest, aren’t you?” Kuroo muses, draping an arm around your shoulder to pull you close to him. You lean into his touch, feeling his warmth radiating off him and his weight as he rests his head on yours.

“Of course. One of us has to be in this relationship.”

“Hm…it doesn’t have to be you anymore. It’s both of us now.”

“That’s fine with me,” you say, turning your head and pressing a quick peck on his cheek. “What about you?”

Kuroo smiles, inclines close enough that his nose is nuzzling yours. “You already know the answer to that, sweetheart.”

(A warm, bubbly feeling spreads to the tips of your fingers when he presses his lips against yours, still gentle but longer than the last. But this time you know it’s not the influence of the cider, the impression of the contact more intoxicating than any liquor you’ve shared with him.)


End file.
